Where'd That Guy Go?

Conversations have turned to the unusual lately, maybe because of Molly.

I have "heard" her twice since she died - once at daybreak the day after, when I heard her stand up and take a step or two off her bed and then snort as only bulldogs can do. And today, when I was putting towels in the dryer, I heard her climb the last few steps and click across the bedroom floor about half way across.

Which, as we say, brings on more talk.

My niece shared with me that last night their three year old woke up at about one a.m. and couldn't go back to sleep, which is very unusual for him. He wanted this, then he wanted that, and he just wouldn't settle down.

Finally he asked her to rock him back to sleep, so they went into the living room to do just that. He went to sleep as she rocked. She rocked just a little more to make sure he was sound asleep when she smelled something burning. She texted her husband who was asleep in the bedroom and asked him to come in the living room. He, too, smelled something burning and went into the kitchen. A wooden spoon had dropped down into the bottom of the dishwasher and had already turned black with the heat and was smoking.

My niece feels sure if the three year old hadn't been restless their home would have burned.

A few days prior to that, they were visiting my mother, my  nephews grandmother. Niece said she noticed her son looked rather hard at a spot behind the couch, and kept giving it a glance for a while. Then he went into another part of the house. When he came back, he looked again behind the couch and said, "Where'd that guy go?"

My niece and sister-in-law looked at each. Niece asked: "What guy?"

Her son explained the guy who had been standing over there. She thought perhaps a man had been standing outside the sliding glass doors and alerted her husband and uncle. They took a trip around the  house, but saw nothing unusual.

When my great-nephew was questioned, he pointed to a spot behind the couch and said, "Right there."

When they got home they tried to question him, but he's three and had gone on to other things.

You see, my nephew talked for a long time to my daddy after he passed away and would share with us what was said. Nephew was four years old at the time, but remembers that, and just wondered, if maybe....

My chiropractor shared that when her son was four they were living in a house and neighborhood that had been built during the civil war era. Her four year old son asked her, "Who is that man?" and pointed to the bottom of the stairs. There was no one she could see, but he was adamant, "That man in the hat!"

Since he couldn't describe the kind of hat, she pulled out lots of pictures until he said "That's the one." It was a top hat.

She shared the story with  neighbors and many shared similar things that had happened within their families in that neighborhood.

When Daughter was about six, my niece, who was the same age, was staying with us. They had been downstairs playing, but then my niece came up and was talking to me as I did laundry. Daughter came up shortly, and flew into the laundry room. With wide eyes she exclaimed, "Mama, there's a girl in my room!"

It takes all of four steps to get to her room from there, but no girl was to be found. I checked everywhere. The front and back doors were locked. No one else was in the house but us. Daughter could describe everything about the girl, who appeared to be a teenager with a blonde ponytail. She was standing at Daughter's chest of drawers, and Daughter wanted to know why that girl would be looking through her stuff.

You tell me.

A few months after our Boxer, Sam, died something strange happened.

Every night of her life, as we all settled upstairs in our beds, she would step out on the landing and listen. When she was satisfied all was well, she'd come in and bed down for the night.

One night after her death, I'd gone back down for something and decided to check the front door. I looked up and literally gasped. There on the front landing was the silhouette of Sam, as though she was still guarding our house. I hollered and told Daughter and Husband to get down the stairs NOW.

They did, passing right by Sam's shadow. I told them to look up when they stood by me.

"It's Sam!" they both agreed.

We cried.

And last but not least, when Brother of Many Surgeries was in ICU on the older wing of an Atlanta hospital, he felt someone touch his foot. He griped to Wife because he was trying to sleep and she griped back because she, too, was trying to sleep on a cot and had not touched his foot. This happened more than once, and Wife figured it was the plethora of medications he was on. That is, until she had her feet propped up on his bed and "someone" grabbed her great toe. She screamed.

They shared this with staff who shrugged and said, yeah, stuff like that happened in that room all the time and would they like a different room? Brother of Many Surgeries declined because he figured whatever this was it didn't hurt him and who knew what was in the next room?

I could go on with stories I've heard, and I'm sure you have a few of your own. Even if you haven't experienced anything first hand, I know you know someone who has.

Ain't life peculiar?